First Kiss: The Cynic and the Chief
by Christene Cullen
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire share their first kiss. Modern AU.


"Would you stop? Would you please just. fucking. stop?"

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to fill his gas tank up before leaving town. They had only a few hours before the meeting was going to start, and now he was on the backroads, a good half hour from the nearest gas station with a toyota that refused to start due to lack of fuel. The day had already been bad enough, and Enjolras wasn't quite sure he could keep himself in check around Grantaire today.

"What? The mighty Apollo forgot to fill his gas tank and now he can't withstand a bit of teasing? I think someone's on edge tonight. Is it my fine appearance that has you undone, O Great One?" Grantaire's voice was teasing, thick with humor that went unappreciated by the company he was keeping. Their surroundings meant little to him, for he'd been in worse situations, and he was simply looking at it as a funny story to retell later tomorrow once he'd slept his hangover off and had a fresh bottle in hand. Enjolras, on the other hand... well, he was Enjolras. And the look of utter fury that was on his face was one that most people wouldn't contend with.

But this was Grantaire, and he was positive, most of the time, that he was put here simply to empassion Enjolras. Because without people like himself, people who nudged and poked and prodded Enjolras into these fiery rantings of his, who would the golden haired god be? Nothing but a foot soldier, nothing but a man without a cause, a man lost from a lack of passion because no one else bothered to care. Enjolras depended deeply upon his opposers, whether it was so he could cut them down or protest against them, they were the ones who helped to boost him up, to make him look good in a matter of speaking.

Sometimes Grantaire hit limits, soft spots in Enjolras's armour, and he could see a hint of another emotion leaking through, could feel the flame withdrawing and see the hardness softening behind those piercing blue eyes. Tonight, he could see it, and could feel the physical tension rolling off of his companion in waves. But he wasn't ready to back down, that much was evident already.

Grantaire clicked his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head as an impish grin flashed over his features and he leaned against the car. "Really, Enjolras, I expected you of all people to have the decency of remembering to -" He stopped his sentence as he noticed the heat in the look Enjolras was currently shooting him. It was just as impassioned as ever, but there seemed to be a hint of something else hidden within it... something Grantaire couldn't quite put his finger on. It was absolutely carnal, the way Enjolras stood with his shoulders broadened, his chest puffed, and his stance that of someone who was going to pounce at any second. For the first time, Grantaire was actually, genuinely intimidated by his friend.

"Sometimes, I don't know what to do with you," Enjolras growled as he strode over, eyes appraising. Grantaire felt exposed, as if Enjolras was searching him for flaws like a farmer might assess a pig going to the slaughter. He was looking for a hole in Grantaire's defence, a way in, so to speak, a place he could poke that was tender and raw and truly inspired. But Grantaire didn't have many of those spots, and Enjolras would have to search diligently for what he wished to find. Those piercing eyes were cool, calculating, unyielding as they met the warm brown of Grantaire's own stare. There was a flash of something there, something Grantaire couldn't label, something that was deeper than just a warm sympathy for the drunkard, and registered on a completely different level entirely. And within Grantaire's eyes Enjolras saw what was usual now: warmth, jovial amusement for the sharp words and harsh phrases they swapped. Hs gaze was steady, unyielding, caring and tender and loving. It was things Enjolras had so long shied away from, things he didn't want to admit he felt for the man who had him undone simply with his words.

And then Enjolras did the last thing Grantaire expected. Honestly, most of him had been bracing for a slap or punch to the face, and so when soft, surprisingly gentle lips crashed into his, a warmth immediately spread through him as tensed muscles relaxed and he melted into the other man. It was instinct, for he'd dreamed of this happening over and over; he saw it in his fantasies, he played it through his mind hundreds of times each day wishing more with each vision that maybe one day he would be blessed by those full, pink lips upon his for even one kiss. One shot at this without another opportunity ever again was better than no shot at all.

So he risked all of the future kisses that could have been to salvage the one happening in the present, because what did he have to lose? Thin, pale fingers twisted through golden locks, caressed stubbled cheeks, cradled the base of that beautiful head of his. Enjolras was a contradiction beneath his fingers: a swirling, boiling, overpowering energy encased in a smooth, marble skin. Under his grip raged a powerful storm and a smooth sea, a sun that cast light upon everything and a black hole that sucked it all away into oblivion. He was a flower and a thorn, a man burdened with purpose and lightweight with an ability to brush it all off. Enjolras was heaven and hell all combined into one, a climax and a downfall and something that Grantaire had been sure he'd never be able to achieve. And yet here it was again, that damn contradiction that had him falling and feeling more grounded than ever all at one time.

Angelic lips were desperate for whatever poisons Grantaire's unholy soul might transfer to him through such intimacies as a simple kiss. He wanted to feel all of R, from the tip of his perfectly sculpted nose to the pads of his fingers stained with paint and last night's cigarettes. He craved the stale taste of whiskey he'd always associated with Grantaire, and was decidedly pleased to find more of a spearmint aftertaste lingering on the artist's tongue, crisp, refreshing and light. Kisses could be cute and simple, but this one... this one was intimate and tangled and intense, thick with a transfer of emotions too strong for words. It said more than Enjolras's shimmering speeches ever could, and Grantaire felt himself blushing, as if this impassioned display was too private to be happening out in the open.

When they broke apart it was like the earth splitting into a gaping chasm; the sudden lack of warmth was frustrating, and it seemed that Enjolras had never realized just how intoxicating the other man really was. His fingers remained carefully tangled through messy curls as he pressed his forehead to Grantaire's, willing his racing heart to be still, praying that his blood would stop rushing, flushing his skin, heating his veins, causing a warmth to spread through places he'd never expected to feel. He'd never realized how separate and distanced he felt until that kiss. It made him feel whole, made him want to keep kissing Grantaire until nothing mattered but the way their lips curved into each other, how each muscle tensed and relaxed and resisted, pulled and molded to the other's skin as if they were two pieces of clay gently being sculpted into a single, fluint being.

How Enjolras had achieved all of that from one kiss was absolutely beyond him, and he was a man who usually had answers.

Laboured breaths shattered the silence as questioning blue eyes met his pair of soft brown ones. Grantaire's soul seemed to dance, for the briefest of moments, before their lips were crashing together once more, a chaotic dance of teeth and tongue, lip and feverish fingers dancing over flushed skin. They parted for the briefest of moments.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that."

Grantaire chuckled darkly at such admittances, tugging Enjolras back against him by the front of his fair trade v-neck shirt. "You don't know how long I've been waiting, Apollo."

The lights flashed from quite a few feet back, the brights almost blinding them because Grantaire and Enjolras had been far too distracted to see the vehicle coming. In the passenger seat, a man adjusted his glasses and smirked slightly, one hand running through sandy blonde locks as he took in the sight of Grantaire pushed against Enjolras's toyota, one of his legs hooked around the blonde's calf and two sets of fingers tangled through cotton shirts and tugging at silky locks. "I'll be damned," Combeferre said, his voice holding a hint of amusement as he slid his wallet out of his back pocket and forked a twenty over into waiting fingers. "I can't believe this worked, Courfeyrac."

From the driver's seat, the center bounced and tucked the newly earned cash into his pocket before reaching into the back seat and shoving clear tubing beneath Combeferre's chair. "I got a full tank of gas and twenty bucks, not to mention maybe Enjolras will finally get laid... I'd call it a good night."


End file.
